


down into the mountain sound

by rowenabane



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Curses, Light Angst, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Storytelling, myths and legends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26151067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowenabane/pseuds/rowenabane
Summary: Sometime after sunset, a man walks through the village walls.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun
Comments: 31
Kudos: 213





	down into the mountain sound

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday to me! originally this fic was going to rot in my google docs for all eternity but I am just so incredibly fond of it that I had to share it with you guys <3 I hope you like it as much as I do!

_"I have often had the fancy that there is some one myth for every man, which, if we but knew it, would make us understand all he did and thought." - w.b.y_

When Kun steps foot into the village in the mountains, the first thing the villagers tell him is this: there is a beast in the mountains, and if you stay out at night it will eat you.

“A beast?” Kun asks, adjusting his bow over his shoulder. The wood is solid white, worn soft and smooth from years of use. The arrows are handmade from the same wood, all white and sharp like teeth. “What kind of beast?”

The villagers shake their heads and back away. _Hideous,_ they murmur. _Huge and terrifying_.

Kun doesn’t know what to say, and the sun is beginning to grow low in the sky. 

_Help us, Traveler_ , the villagers plead, eyeing his bow, his arrows, his calloused hands. _Kill the beast._

Kun looks at the walls that surround the village, the single gap he entered through. The woods and the mountain loom beyond, the evening shadows rendering everything shapeless and unrecognizable.

“I would have to see it first,” Kun says, unsure. The villagers nod eagerly, grabbing at his hands, murmuring thanks. He does not know why they are thanking him—he has not agreed to kill anything. Not yet.

…

He buys a basket of raw fish from one of the villagers, right before they board their windows for the night. In the space of an hour the entire village has become locked doors and boarded windows, quiet, hushed whispers. The sun’s last dying rays push through the village gate, forming a perfect rectangle of orange-red light. The dusty dirt of the road looks like molten stone.

Kun takes the basket of fish and places it on the ground, sitting behind it with his bow in his lap. The sun sets, slowly and then quickly, the red and orange giving way to darkness.

Sometime after sunset, a man walks through the village walls.

At least, it looks like a man. Man-shaped, at the very least. Kun stands and slings his bow over his shoulder. He will not shoot a man-shaped thing.

The man pauses several feet away, head tilted upwards towards the sky. His eyes are green, greener than anything has ever seen. Like emeralds. Like fields. Like leaves. Maybe, Kun thinks, like home.

“Who are you?” the man-shaped thing asks, eyes the only bright thing in the dark. He crouches, one hand pressed to the ground. Cautious and wary, like an animal.

“I am a traveler,” Kun says. “Are you the beast of the mountain?”

The man laughs at that, throwing his head back. His dark hair falls away from his face to reveal sharp, narrow features. A sloped nose. A wry smile. Pointed teeth.

“If that is what they are calling me nowadays,” the man says. “Then yes. I am the beast of the mountain.” His feet are bare, the shadows covering every inch of his skin. 

Not shadows, Kun realizes, his mind turning slowly. He squints in the dark. The man’s feet and shins are jet black as if they have been dipped in paint. His arms and hands are the same: black up to the elbow and then fading into soft, pale skin. His nails are just long enough, just pointed enough, to be considered claws.

The man steps closer and considers Kun with those uncanny green eyes. “Aren't you afraid?”

“Why would I be?” Kun bends down and grabs the basket. “This is for you.”

Ten eyes the fish warily, gaze flickering to the bow that hangs over his shoulder and the quiver of arrows next to it. He takes a step back. 

“I don’t like to be tricked,” he says, voice low. For a second, there is something decidedly inhuman in his eyes. An animal’s cruelty. An animal’s fear.

“And I do not like to trick others.” Kun places the basket on the ground. “What is your name?”

The man’s eyes widen and then narrow. “It is too long for you, Traveler,” he says, his voice shifting to the tone of long winding rivers, the slow rushing of water. Kun blinks, surprised. “But you may call me Ten.”

“The fish are for you, Ten,” Kun says, the name like a river stone in his mouth. It tumbles, heavy on his tongue.

Ten tilts his head back and forth, and then sits on the ground and pulls the basket towards him. He looks up at Kun.

“Have you anything else to offer me, Traveler?” he asks. “For all you know, I may just eat you and take your fish with me.”

What does he have to offer the strange beast of the mountain? A quiver of arrows? A bow with grooves worn into the wood? Kun thinks for a moment. “I could...I could tell you a story, if you’d like.”

Ten’s eyes glitter at the words.

“Tell me a story then, Traveler,” Ten says slyly, tearing into a raw fish with reckless abandon. His black hands are a shadow against the glimmering scales, claws digging into the flesh.

Kun swallows thickly and then sits across from Ten. “There once was a man who went on a journey,” he starts.

_There once was a man who went on a journey to save his wife from an illness. The only cure was to bring back a creature that lived in a great tree, far across the world. The being, however, was as elusive as it was confusing—a winged devil, playful and mischievous. Small, Kun tells Ten. Small enough to rest on a man’s shoulder._

“The creature told stories in the form of riddles,” Kun says. “But if the man answered the creature would fly away, and he would have to look for it all over again.”

“So what did he do?” Ten asks, leaning forward, eyes hungry. “Did he save his wife?”

“Eventually,” Kun says. “The winged devil told 12 riddles before the man finally learned and stayed silent. In the end, the creature rested on his shoulder and went home with him to cure his wife.”

Ten is silent for a moment, and then his lip curls upward. “Too happy. I would have just left the man.”

“That may be so,” Kun says. “But it isn't your tale to tell.”

Ten huffs, standing and stretching like a cat. “Thank you for the story, Traveler,” he says, bending backward like a creature without a spine. “And the fish. Maybe I won’t eat you after all.”

Kun smiles, and watches Ten walk past the village walls, back into the mountain.

…

The villagers come out in the morning and ask him if he has killed the beast yet, marvel at how he is unharmed and unscathed. _What is the beast like_ , they ask. _Is it big? Does it have many teeth?_

 _No_ , Kun tells them. _It looks like a man. It has the normal number of teeth. It is not very big at all._

Most of the villagers shake their heads and walk away, going about their day. 

_Will you kill it?_ The remaining villagers ask.

Kun looks at the rising sun, the shadow of the mountain growing around them. He thinks of Ten’s emerald eyes, his black hands, his coy smile. Somehow animal, somehow human, somehow both.

 _I don’t know_ , he responds. 

…

Unsurprisingly, Ten comes back the next night, slinking into the village after sunset. Kun sits on the road, a basket of fish in front of him. Ten’s eyes glint warily as he kneels, curling his hands around the basket. He tilts his head. 

“For me?” He asks, as if he could not imagine kindness coming twice. His voice is filled with wonder.

“For you,” Kun responds.

Ten grabs one and bites into it, the flesh still raw and white, his smile like a hundred little daggers. He licks his lips, tongue pink and fleshy, eyes perfect emeralds in the moonlight.

“What are you doing this for?” Ten asks, wiping at his chin. “What do you want?”

“I have never met a person like you,” Kun says. “And I have met very many people.”

Ten’s mouth curls into an uncanny smile. “So you are curious, then.”

“Perhaps.” 

Ten places his hands on the dirt and stretches his back like a cat, rolling onto his back and looking up at Kun with those lovely, jeweled eyes. “Tell me a story,” he says, almost purring. “Or else I will eat you.”

Kun thinks for a moment, looking up at the night sky. “There once was a boy who lived in a monastery,” he says.

_There once was a boy who lived in a monastery, Kun says. The boy didn’t want to be a monk, though, so all day he would draw cats on the screen walls. The monks punished him for it, took from him all the brushes and ink, but the boy still drew. Big cats, little cats, cats with swords and cats with armor. Cats with smiles. Cats with teeth._

“I like cats,” Ten says lazily, drawing a circle into the dirt. “Tasty.”

“Do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?” Kun asks. Ten rolls his eyes but says nothing else.

_The boy loved the cats, but eventually, the monks put him in a room with solid walls and no screens to draw on. He went to sleep that night with the walls blank and empty and sad. During the night he heard a great howling, screeching, the sounds of animals fighting. The boy stayed in bed, afraid, but soon before dawn the noises stopped. He woke up and saw what had caused all the noise._

“What was it?” Ten asks impatiently, his eyes alight.

“Rats,” Kun says. “Big rats, with armor and swords, all dead on the floor. The cat drawings were still there but with blood all on their whiskers.”

Ten’s eyes widen. “They came to life?”

“Of course,” Kun says. “If you love something enough, it will eventually come to fight for you.”

“That’s not true,” Ten says quietly, huffing.

His emerald eyes lose a bit of their light when he says that, and his mouth slumps into something uncommonly sad, less animal, more human. He grabs the basket of fish and stands.

“Thank you, Traveler,” he says quietly. “It was a good story.”

“Kun,” Kun says. Ten raises an eyebrow. “My name is Kun.”

“Thank you, Kun.” Ten grins, teeth slotting together like a shark’s. “Maybe I will eat you tomorrow, then.”

…

The next night Kun sits with his usual basket of fish, bow strapped to his back. Sometime after the sun sets he sees a shadow move outside the village walls, man-shaped and quick. 

Ten peers around the wall, and when he sees only Kun he relaxes, walking up to him with that graceful, predatory prowl. 

“Good evening, Traveler,” he says smoothly. He pauses, tilting his head. “Kun.”

For once, Ten does not go straight to the basket of fish. Instead, he sits cross-legged in front of Kun, rests his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, and says this:

“Do you have a story for me?”

His eyes swirl with every shade of green imaginable, all the leaves of the mountain, all the grass and flowers, all the hidden gems beneath the earth. 

Kun nods, mouth dry. “I do,” he says. “Do you want to hear it?”

Ten nods eagerly, leaning forward, so close that Kun holds his breath.

Kun takes a deep breath, watching Ten’s dark hair fall over his eyes like shimmering strands of midnight. “There once was a woman who loved to weave,” he says.

_There once was a woman who loved to weave, Kun says. She was the best in all the land at her craft, could make the moon and stars glimmer from a piece of fabric. She could make images of people live and breathe with just thread and her hands alone. People came from far and wide just to see her work, to touch the thread. Eventually, the woman considered her weaving even better than the gods._

Ten’s face is stony and blank, his green eyes darkening. He says nothing as Kun continues, but Kun can see his hands ball into fists beneath his chin. His fingers dig into his palms hard enough to turn the black flesh red.

_The woman challenged the goddess of weaving and claimed that she could do better, and her mockery eventually reached the heavens. The goddess came down and together they wove, night and day, trying to outdo the other. When sunrise came they had both finished weaving their own lovely, otherworldly tapestries._

_“_ Let me guess,” Ten says, scowling. “The goddess won.”

“No,” Kun says. “Everyone that saw the tapestries claimed the woman was better, and even the goddess knew it was true. Enraged, she turned the woman into a spider to punish her for her disrespect.”

Ten eyes flash. “I don't like that story,” he seethes. “I don't like it at all.”

“You wanted a story,” Kun says calmly, watching Ten stand. He towers over him, his shadow just another layer to the night. “I gave you one.”

“I said I don't like it!” Ten growls, voice slipping into something throatier, meaner, inhuman. “Tell me another.”

Kun stands. “That is not how it works.”

“How what works?” Ten growls, eyes flashing again. The green is so bright it is sickening, more like poison than greenery. 

_So this is the beast of the mountain,_ Kun thinks, his bow around his back, quiver resting in the dirt. _So this is the thing that brings fear_.

“If you want another story, you must tell one,” Kun says. “It is only polite.”

Ten laughs, the sound simmering into a low growl. His hair falls across his face, wild and untamed, just like the trees on the mountain. “Polite? I should eat you, Traveler.”

“Go ahead.” Kun doesn't move as Ten walks around him, instead squeezing his eyes shut. He can feel Ten’s breath on his neck, cold and hot all at once. “But then there would be no more stories. And no more fish.”

Ten snorts, placing a hand on Kun’s chest. “You want a story? I will tell you one.” 

Ten steps back and raises his hands above his head, lowers them, spins a circle into the dirt with his foot. The movements are liquid and graceful, like water curling through the air, like wind trapped in a bottle.

Ten twists his hands around them as if they are puppets on a string. “There once was a boy whose beauty rivaled that of the gods,” he says, spinning circles into the dirt. “He didn't know it, not until the villagers told him, asked him to dance, praised him for the gifts he had been born with. God-given, they said, Blessed, they said.”

He stamps his foot into the dirt, and clouds of dust drift upwards. One leg up, straightened, a hand following the line of his body. Kun has never seen anything so beautiful in all his life—everything else dims in comparison to the way Ten dances. Lightly. Delicately. As if he is in pain.

“Eventually,” Ten says bitterly, his black hands reaching to the sky, “the boy became a man that believed he was beautiful. And eventually, he told himself he was more beautiful than the gods of the mountain, and the valley, and the village. And eventually, the gods punished him for it.”

Ten curls his hands in front of him. “And they made it so no one would ever call the man beautiful again,” he says quietly. One hand flutters up, towards his face and then away. The other follows it. “They made it so that anyone who looked upon him would know only fear. They turned the man into a beast.”

Ten slinks around Kun, still dancing, toes spinning into the dirt. He rests a hand on Kun’s shoulder, and then another. “The villagers hunted the beast,” Ten says quietly. “And they hated him, and forgot that they used to praise him and love him.”

Ten comes to a stop, all his momentum traveling along his limbs and becoming graceless, tipping motion. He looks to the moon, face filled with the longing of a child that knows where home is but cannot find the way. “The gods turned me into a beast, Kun. My vanity, my pride, made me a monster.”

Kun doesn't know what to say, frozen in place by the heavy sadness in Ten’s voice, the sinuous beauty of his movements. Oil on water. “You dance well.”

Ten clutches the basket of fish in his hands like it is an anchor. “Thank you for the story,” he says. 

He walks away and Kun unfreezes, mentally cursing himself. “Ten!” he calls out.

Ten stills, but does not turn around. 

“It does not matter what you look like,” Kun says, the wind carrying his words just far enough to be heard. He thinks of Ten’s beautiful dance, his playful nature, his curious emerald eyes. “What matters is how you are seen.”

Ten says nothing and vanishes back into the mountains.

…

“You still haven't killed the beast yet?” a villager asks, young and cocky. Kun shrugs, sharpening an arrow.

“I am working on it,” he says. The villager spits on the ground. 

“Obviously not hard enough,” the villager says. His clothes are all torn and brown, a battered sword on his hip. “It is still alive.”

Kun bristles to hear the village boy talk about Ten in that way, as if he is just a mindless creature, a thing with no heart or brain. A thing that solely exists to be killed. A thing to be hated.

He thinks of Ten’s dance, of those sorrowful eyes turned to the moon, those hands that fly and dance on their own. How could he ever kill him? How could he ever destroy a creature as beautiful and sad as that?

“Go away,” Kun says bluntly. “Your mother might need you.”

The boy spits on the ground again and stalks away with angry, youthful swagger. Kun doesn't envy his ignorance, but wonders if it would help him sleep at night.

…

“Traveler!” The village boy says, the sun turning red in the sky. “What are you doing?”

Kun pauses, a basket of fish in one hand and his bow in the other. “Go home,” he says tiredly, turning his eyes towards the gate. The sun will be setting soon. He doesn't know if Ten will come back, not after last night, but he can still hope.

“You can't talk to me like that,” the boy says arrogantly, his voice so much closer than it was before. Kun turns to see him glaring, opens his mouth to admonish him, and then feels something come down on the back of his head. Hard. The basket of fish goes tumbling from his hands and onto the dirt, rolling as it spills its contents.

Kun falls to his knees, and someone hits him again, this time hard enough to drive his face into the soil. His vision goes dark at the corners, glimmering, and as he rolls onto his back he sees the village boy and his group of rude friends crowding around him. He squints, trying to make out their faces, trying to focus his vision. His head throbs.

“Tie him up,” the village boy says, his battered sword hanging at his hip like a trophy. His voice sounds far away, echoing as if it is underwater.

Kun wants to struggle, to say something, anything at all, but all he can do is go limp. He knows the sun is still in the sky, but everything suddenly turns blissfully dark.

…

_Ten. Ten, don’t come._

Kun rocks himself back into consciousness, the sky dark and star-filled above him. Mocking.

_Ten, don’t come._

His hands are tied behind his back. It takes him a second to realize it, and when he does he rubs his wrists together until they are raw and aching. The ropes cut into his skin, and his mouth is stuffed with rough, dusty fabric. 

The basket of fish is in front of him. The moon is up. Kun wants to stand but his feet are bound as well, and all he can do is kneel, rub his wrists together, groan into the fabric as it cuts his tongue.

_Ten, don’t come._

The back of his head feels wet. If he could lift a hand to touch the spot, he is absolutely sure it would come away slick with blood. He looks around the street and sees the village boys lurking in the shadows. The mean one with a sword on his hip holds Kun’s bow in his grubby hands, aiming it at the entrance to the village.

His head feels heavy. His eyes hurt. A fever runs its way through his aching veins and burns him from the inside out.

_Ten, don’t come._

A man-shaped shadow weaves its way through the entrance and pauses. Even from here, Kun can make out Ten’s lovely, leaflike green eyes.

Ten walks slowly and cautiously to where Kun is kneeling, tilting his head as if he knows something is wrong. Can’t he see? Is he so foolish that he can’t see a trap?

Ten pauses several feet away, tilts his head to the left, to the right. He jerks back suddenly as if something has startled him.

“Kun,” he says slowly. “Are you bleeding?”

Kun shakes his head, ignoring the way pain crawls up his skull like a hand. _Go away,_ he wants to shout. _Go away._

“Kun?” Ten says again, inching forward, his walk becoming a hesitant crouch. “Traveler?”

Kun looks up at him. Ten’s eyes widen and he reaches out, anger and terror flickering across his face.

An arrow slices through the night and embeds itself right in Ten’s thigh. The sound that tears itself from his throat is all animal, all creature, all beast, tapering into an angry growl. Ten turns to the shadows, eyes narrowing. His pupils narrow to slits as he wraps one black hand around the arrow’s shaft and tears it from the muscle. He throws it onto the sandy dirt and looks down at Kun, and then to the village boys scattered around them. 

Two more arrows fly through the air. Ten catches one but the other embeds itself in his ribs, the white wood like an extension of bone. Ten howls in pain, falling to one knee, one hand pressed to his ribs as he attempts to run back towards the mountain.

Kun screams into the fabric, squeezing his eyes shut. The village boys holler and chase after Ten, and Kun rubs his wrists together frantically until the rope is slick with blood. He loses sight of them as they pass through the village walls, lost in the murky shadows of the mountain.

“Ten!” Kun screams into the fabric, voice muffled. _“Ten!”_

But it is too late. It is much too late.

…

“Oh, dear,” the old woman says as she unties Kun’s wrists. “Are you alright? What happened?”

Kun groans, pulling the fabric from his mouth. His body feels feverish all over and his forehead is damp with sweat. Sunrise. The sun is up.

“The boys,” he groans. “Where are the boys?”

The old woman gives him a long look. “Why, I don’t know,” she says, bewildered. “Did they do this to you?”

Kun doesn't answer, instead fumbling his way through the knots around his ankles. He stumbles to his feet, head throbbing, and walks towards the shadow of the mountain. 

“Traveler!” The old woman calls out, voice thin and feeble. “Where are you going?”

Kun doesn’t respond. His aching heart wont let him.

…

“Ten!” Kun shouts into the forest. “Ten!”

No response. Kun trudges through the trees, the forest floor damp with rainwater and dew. Flowers bloom all along the roots. The grass is the most lovely, living green.

“Ten?” Kun’s head feels like it is splitting open at the seams. “Are you there?”

Silence. Somewhere in the forest birds chirp and sing, unaware. 

There is a great rustling and a crash through the woods, and as Kun watches the village boys break through the trees, panicking. Their leader holds Kun’s bow in his hand.

They all pause when they see Kun, all of them running into each other's backs. The one holding the bow scowls.

Kun puts out his hand. “Give it back,” he says quietly. He has no room in his heart left for anger: only fear, only exhaustion, only unhappiness reside there now.

The boys look at each other, eyes wide, grabbing at each other's shoulders. Eventually, their leader spits on the ground and carelessly throws it to him. It bounces at Kun’s feet, the clean, pale wood now covered in dirt.

“Let’s get out of here,” another boy mumbles. “He’s insane.”

Kun picks up the bow, turning to the boys. He does not know how he looks to them, but something in his face frightens them enough to make them scurry back through the woods, down to the village.

Kun slips the bow over his head and walks on. 

…

_There once was a man,_ Kun thinks quietly to himself. _There once was a man that fell in love with a beast._

He walks on, calling Ten’s name. The sun travels through the sky, low and then high and then low again, the brightness of it making Kun’s head spin. Exhaustion eats away at him like a forest blight.

Black on green. Kun steps for a moment, watching a leaf covered with inky black splatters sway in the breeze. He kneels, head spinning, and rubs his finger through the liquid. Blood.

Ten. Kun stands and keeps walking, higher up the mountain, higher to the sky.

…

_There once was a man that fell in love with a beast,_ Kun thinks. _But it wasn't a beast, not really. It was simply a man._

The forest gives way to gravel, to solid rock, to stone and caves. The sky is so close that it feels as if he could lift a hand and run it through the clouds. 

“Ten?” Kun calls. His voice is whipped away by the wind, its own terrifying creature. He hears a low, keening wail from somewhere farther up the mountain and he follows it. His feet are sore and his arms feel like lead, every step another dagger in his pincushion skull. 

The wail continues, sounding almost like a low howl. 

Kun pauses for a moment, bracing himself against the stone walls of a cave. His head is ringing with the effort, the thin air. He could sit here for a moment, he thinks. He could rest a little.

The shadows in the cave move. Kun freezes mid-breath.

A low, keening wail, almost like a howl. The shadow huffs and fixes its huge, emerald eyes on him.

“Ten?” Kun squints into the darkness. 

The shadow huffs again, pressing itself along the far wall of the cave. It does not answer.

“Ten,” Kun says, reaching out a hand. “It's me.”

The shadow closes its massive emerald eyes and presses its snout into Kun’s open hand. It huffs quietly, and Kun can finally see the creature in the cave take shape.

“Oh,” Kun says softly, heart breaking. “Oh.”

Not a man at all, he supposes. Ten is not a man at all.

The creature in the cave is shaped almost like a wolf, he supposes: long snout, pointed ears, shaggy fur. But there the similarities stop. Tiny green scales line beneath Ten’s snout and beneath his huge green eyes, and if Kun looks down he sees they cover the tops of his clawed paws as well, mingling with black fur. The creature’s tail is long and spiked at the end, covered with green scales. The creature is covered with dense gray fur, all of it blending into black halfway down its limbs.

“Ten,” Kun breathes. He tries to reach out another hand but Ten shies away, letting out a low growl. 

“It's okay,” Kun says, stepping back. “I'm not going to hurt you. It's me, remember?”

Ten growls again, softer this time. Kun steps closer, running his hands along Ten’s side. Hidden beneath the fur is the broken shaft of a white arrow.

“I'm going to pull this out,” Kun says. “Okay?”

Ten bares his teeth, and _gods_ he has so many—pointy and sharp and bone-white. Kun grabs the end of the arrow and pulls it free, Ten’s howl almost like a scream as it resounds throughout the cave.

Kun throws the arrow into the darkness. “See?” he says, pulling off his jacket and tearing off a strip of fabric. It's not nearly long enough to use as a bandage, but he clumps it up and dabs at the clotting black blood oozing from Ten’s side. 

Ten sinks to the floor, a massive creature in a massive mountain, and places his head on his paws. He sniffs at the air and then gets up again, advancing on Kun. He narrows his eyes.

“What—”

Ten prowls around him and then licks the back of his head. It stings, and Kun dimly remembers the large gash that probably rests there. Ten licks it again, curling around him. He’s huge like this, almost eight feet tall and probably strong enough to crush a man, but he’s so gentle. Like a dog. Like a pet. Not like a beast at all.

Kun’s head hurts. “What are you doing?”

Ten nudges him with his snout and he sits down, Ten curled around him and licking the back of his head. Waves of pain radiate from around his skull and suddenly he feels feverish and ill all over again. Exhausted.

Kun rests his head against Ten’s side, the fur soft. Maybe he can rest a little. Just a little. Ten whines, nudging him with his snout, and eventually Kun falls into a fitful, dreamless sleep.

…

_There once was a man that fell in love with a beast,_ Kun dreams. _But it wasn't a beast, not really. It was simply a man that looked like a beast. A creature with a human heart. A human with a creature’s face._

When Kun wakes up, the sun is beginning to set outside the cave. He raises a hand to his forehead, his skin burning like embers. He looks over and sees Ten still curled around him, fur warm and soft. 

The sun is setting. As it dips below the horizon and the sky goes from red to purple to blue to black, Kun watches Ten change. It isn't a sudden transformation, but rather a warping of the air—when Kun blinks and sees Ten lying on the ground, all human limbs and tattered clothes, it just seems as if he always existed that way. It is as if nothing changed at all, even as the stone around him shimmers with magic.

Ten wraps his arms around him and yawns, mouth gaping open to reveal his sharp teeth. He rubs his cheek against Kun’s head, the action still more animal than man.

“You’re hurt,” he says, voice hoarse.

Kun sits up and turns around, placing a gentle hand on Ten’s ribs. He can't miss the way he winces. “So are you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Ten says. “The villagers have done worse.”

The villagers. Kun feels anger run through him like a comet, painting all his insides cinder bright. How could they hurt him? How could anyone hurt him?

“It may please you to know I didn't eat any of those village boys,” he says sleepily. “It was tempting.”

“I…” Kun realizes just how empty handed he is. His bow rests on the floor of the cave, several feet away. “I haven't brought you anything.”

Ten tilts his head. “You never had to.”

Silence. Kun gingerly runs a hand through his hair and finds it crusted with dried blood. His head aches, but it is just a dull, ever-present throb compared to the searing pain from before.

“Tell me a story,” Ten says quietly. Blood mats his pant leg and the side of his shirt, but Kun can’t see the skin underneath. Ten’s black hands are gentle as he cradles Kun’s head, laying him down. “Tell me a true one.”

_There once was a man that fell in love with a beast._

“There once was a man who fought in a war,” Kun rasps. His bones settle at odd angles in his body, his skin hot and burning, his heart breaking like water over rock. “He left his home, always intending to come back, always dreaming of the day he would return.”

Ten is looking out at the moon, and Kun can almost see tears glinting in the moonlight.

“But when the war was over, and the man returned to where he thought home would be, he found it was no longer there. So he travelled, for a very long time, looking for somewhere, anywhere to call home.” 

Collecting stories. Collecting words like coins, a toll that he would eventually learn to pay.

 _Somewhere green,_ Kun thinks. _Somewhere green like the forests, like the fields._

“Did the man ever find that place?” Ten asks sadly. Kun’s heart is like a stone on the mountain: heavy, ready to tumble at the slightest touch. 

“No,” Kun says. “Not yet.”

“It's not a very good story.”

“Of course not,” Kun says. A star streaks through the sky with all the abandon of a man with nowhere to go, nothing left to lose. “True stories are never very good.”

Ten pauses, hands stilling. “I knew the villagers wanted you to kill me,” he says. “I was going to kill you first.”

“Why didn't you?”

Ten is silent for a long, long time, so long that Kun wonders if he has forgotten that they were speaking. He finally exhales, as slow as the winter wind.

“You smiled at me, and for a second I felt beautiful again,” he says. “I felt human again because, for once, someone didn’t fear me.”

“I thought it was the fish,” Kun says lightly. When Ten smiles back, all sharp teeth and jewel eyes, his heart stutters and restarts.

The moon watches. The moon watches as Ten leans over and kisses Kun once, gently. The moon watches as Kun kisses him back, cautious, for the beast of the mountain has very many teeth. 

The moon watches and says nothing, for it is not her place to intervene.

…

_There once was a man that fell in love with a beast, for it was the only creature that reminded him of home. The man did not have a home, but the beast did: a creature of the mountain, of the wilds, untameable and alive. He loved the beast because the beast had a smile. He loved the beast because the beast was kind. He loved the beast because the beast loved him._

_There once was a man that went into the mountain and did not come back. The villagers thought that he had died, eaten up by the beast on the mountain, fallen from the cliffs. But this was not true, for every once in a while someone would see a man with a bone-white bow, a quiver full of arrows. They would see a man and a creature, walking side by side in the shadows._

_Maybe he is cursed too, they whispered._

_But they could not truly know. All the villagers could do was listen, and if they listened hard enough they could hear a man’s voice telling stories on the wind._

_Maybe he is cursed, they whispered. Or maybe, just maybe, he was home._

…

“Kun.” Ten dips an inky black hand into a small pond. The reflection of the moon on the water ripples, becoming all waves and distortion, small splashes of light. Kun looks up from where he is sharpening an arrow with a knife, the wood shavings falling to the ground in loose curls. Bone white. “Will you tell me a story?”

Kun puts down the knife, holding the arrow up to the moonlight. Ten pads over to where he is sitting and rests his cheek on his knee. His eyes are the loveliest emeralds, the rarest jewels of the forest.

The moon watches, and the wind listens, and Kun speaks.

**Author's Note:**

> if you're my mythology professor just pretend you didn't read this thanks <3


End file.
